


Sandbridge Beach, Virginia

by Punchdrunkdoc



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, post episode 3x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punchdrunkdoc/pseuds/Punchdrunkdoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver and Felicity are spotted during their post-finale roadtrip</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandbridge Beach, Virginia

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the #OlicitySpotting fic fest that I came across on tumblr (props to outoftheclosetshipper for the idea)
> 
> This is only my second ever fic but the muse came along (didn’t even know I had one of those) and I couldn’t relax until I’d typed this out...so enjoy

Leah Saunders had always loved people-watching. And there wasn’t much else for her to do while she waiting for Catherine to return from the hotel room so they could finally grab some lunch. She didn’t feel like going back in the water and she’d finished her book an hour ago; so she sat in her deck chair and took in the tableau before her, eyes drifting around the beach, her curious gaze hidden behind dark sunglasses. The little boy building a sandcastle, pouting adorably as another turret toppled from his precarious creation; the little girl squealing as she was chased by the incoming tide; the teenage boys playing football, casting furtive glances at the nearby girls they were so obviously trying to impress.

And the couple just in front of her. They were definitely her favourite.

Leah had spotted them half an hour ago, as they sauntered from the ocean to their towels, hand-in-hand. Her eyes had been drawn to him first, and who could blame her? The guy was ripped, with beautifully sculpted biceps and an honest-to-God six pack, the likes of which she usually only saw on the cover of romance novels.

As they drew nearer, she stared for another reason; the scars and burns covering his torso, hinting at trauma and torture she could never truly imagine; it was clear that his muscles weren’t created in vanity but were earned through pain and survival.

She had glanced at this face, expecting to see cold eyes and a hardened gaze sweeping his surroundings for threats. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He was gazing at the tiny blonde next to him, a small amused smile on his face as she babbled about immortal jellyfish taking over the ocean.

After reaching their towels they had quickly dried off and then laid down, the blonde letting out a contented sigh as she snuggled into him. She was on her back with her face angled towards him, her fingers linked over her enviously flat, toned stomach. He was on his side, head propped up on one arm, gaze locked with hers, the index finger of his free hand gently tracing over her exposed skin. Up and down her arm…along her collarbone…over the gold hoop holding the two halves of her bikini top together. He lingered the most on her left hipbone, gently rubbing the pad of his finger over a small arrow tattoo.

They hadn’t said a word to each other in ages. Seemingly content just being with each other, holding endless silent conversations in the time between blinks, in the space between breaths.

It was unbearably intimate.

Leah felt like she should avert her eyes, but she was riveted. As a terminally single girl in her late 20s, she often looked upon other couples with a taint of bitterness in her heart. But with these two, she was obviously witnessing a deep and abiding love and all she felt was awe and wonder. This was a man that had obviously endured so much pain and suffering and, yet, he had an aura of peace and contentment surrounding him, which she had to ascribe to the woman he was gazing at with so much affection. Who could begrudge a man like that his happy ever after?

Leah startled as the man finally spoke, “Are you cold?”

“Hmm?” the blonde answered, then followed his gaze to where his finger was tracing over the goosebumps on her arm. “No, I’m not _cold_ ”, her emphasis on the last word and her accompanying smirk made it clear that her body was reacting to his touch, and not the slight breeze that had started to blow in.

He smiled in answer, his eyes actually twinkling, “You ready to head back to the room?”

“Not just yet”, she replied, closing her eyes and stretching her arms over her head, his gaze following the movement of her body, the slight shifting of muscle beneath her pale skin. “I’m too comfy here”, she sighed, her eyes still closed. “Besides, the sun’s gone behind the clouds so there’s less chance of me turning into a lobster now”, she said with a smile.

“I don’t mind putting more lotion on you. I enjoyed it the first time”, he replied with a suggestive grin.

“I don’t doubt that, Mr Queen, but I’m good for now.” With that, she turned to her side, pushed him onto his back and laid her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his waist. He wrapped his arm around her, his large hand coming to rest against her lower back, his fingers playing with the edge of her bikini bottoms.

“Me too,” he whispered with a smile, finally closing his eyes.

Leah jolted in her seat, as the name the blonde dropped finally registered. Mr Queen. Oliver Queen! Holy shit that was Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak. Lying 10 feet away from her. She quickly grabbed her phone and, as surreptitiously as possible, snapped a picture of the internet-famous couple.

Leah wasn’t much for tabloid gossip or internet crazes but even she had heard of the #OlicitySpotting frenzy, mostly thanks to her sister, who had an account for every possible social media platform that existed and loved to send Leah the latest cat memes and ‘shipper' gifs.

Louise was going to freak when Leah posted this image! The pop culture unsavvy big sister was actually in possession of the latest picture of the notorious former playboy billionaire and his ex-assistant as they toured around the country.

Leah logged into her Twitter account (a necessary evil for her work), uploaded the photo and prepared her tweet. She was all set to send it out into the internet ether when she hesitated, her eyes drawn to the photograph of the couple wrapped in each others arms, content smiles on their faces.

The love that was so tangible between them in person was evident even in a hastily shot, slightly overexposed photo. Her earlier thoughts about the man - Oliver Queen - deserving a happy ending returned. Who was she to intrude on their happiness and broadcast such an intimate scene to the world? A world in which internet trolls lurked in wait, ready to criticise his scars, her body, even their taste in beach-wear.

No. She would leave them be.

Maybe another tourist would spot the couple later and #OlicitySpotting: Virginia would be born, but she wouldn’t be the one responsible.

She deleted the tweet and, with a heavier heart, deleted the photo from her phone. Then she relaxed back in her chair, consciously moving her gaze away from couple. They deserved to be left alone in their little world.

 _How about that_ , she mused internally, _Leah Saunders, bitter spinster, champion of lovers everywhere!_


End file.
